


teenagers

by offensiveandgay



Category: Ryan Ross - Fandom, Ryden - Fandom, brendon urie - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Underage - Freeform, student, teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveandgay/pseuds/offensiveandgay
Summary: Mr. Ross was getting old. He’s 31 with no real purpose in life.Brendon Urie is young. He’s 17 and on top of the world.And every friday they collide.





	teenagers

Teenagers are... interesting.  
As someone who used to be a teenager, I can confirm that being in that uncomfortable stage between “child” and “adult” is not enjoyable. You’re handling changes in your identity, your childhood friends now spend their nights snorting cocaine in the back of a Denny’s, and your abusive father is constantly making you fear for your life. Maybe that was just my experience. Maybe that’s how i ended up here. an english teacher. Constantly being forced to handle youth that i no long can connect to. I’m a bore now. well, I was a bore then. I guess I never was a teenager. I must have skipped right over that phase. But despite never having my golden years, I know that teenagers have changed a lot over the years. And boy do i mean a lot. I’m currently sat at my desk, reading a student’s assignment. I told him to write about his summer. A simple task that no one should be able to fail. But Pete Wentz managed to write about his mother’s knife collection after an astounding two sentences of actual summer experiences. I sigh and scribble a “B” on the top of his paper. Next to it i tell him to not get so sidetracked when writing and stick to the topic at hand. Wentz was not my brightest student. He excels in science and engineering, but he can hardly spell either of those words. It’s okay. Everyone has their flaws. The bell for seventh period rings, and I put Wentz and the other kid’s papers away.  
“Good morning Mr. Ross!” Sarah greets cheerily.  
“Afternoon,” I correct, putting down my pen and folding my hands.  
“Same difference!”  
“Not at all, Orzechowski.”  
She shrugs and takes and her notebook. It’s only the first month of school and she’s already managed to fill half of that thing. What she writes in it is beyond me.  
“Creative writing is still today, right?” She started to write on it’s light orange pages. I think she custom ordered it. I’ve never seen that color in pages before.  
“Mhm.” I closed my eyes and nodded lightly, for a little extra flair. Flair isn’t the right word. I have a degree in this shit I should be better at this. I pull out my phone, about to google the word I’m looking for but stop to check what Spencer had sent me.  
“Are you coming?”  
I assume he’s talking about the “guys night” he invited me to. He insists that the teachers should have a bond stronger than colleagues. Spencer and I are close, and I do enjoy his company, but I can’t say the same for the rest of that staff. I think it’s because he’s the band teacher. In highschool I only got along with music and literature teachers. It would make sense, but the thought makes me uncomfortable. It just supports my theory that I went from child to my current state with no in between.  
“Sorry, after-school today and date night. Maybe next time?”  
I pocket my phone and stand up, making my way into the middle of the classroom.

“Alright,” the majority of the students look up, “today is real easy.”  
“We both know that’s not true.” One of my more energetic students, Frank, shouts from the back of the classroom.  
“Keep all questions and comments until the end of the tour, Iero. All you have to do is an analysis of the poem on page 240.”  
A collective groan comes from the group.  
“Or maybe we can do a twenty page essay on the history of yarn?”  
I hear scattered “no thanks” and “no way”s.  
I clasp my hands together and sat back down at my desk. “That’s what I thought.” I take out my phone and see Spencer’s reply.  
“It’s all cool man! Enjoy ur date ;))”  
How mature. Spencer is, what, twenty-nine or so? He should’ve abandoned the winky face ages ago. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he’s living the right way and I’m growing too old too quickly. Should I be using the winky face? Should anyone be using the winky face? Fuck, I gotta cut this out. I’m thirty-one. I’m not a dinosaur. I’m young? Right? Mentally I suppose I’m fifty-one. That’s my issue. I’m not young at heart. I’ve got a soul even older than my body. The bell rings. I’m brought back to reality. That period went by in a flash. I guess my thoughts are faster than the clock. “Turn that in tomorrow since I know half of you didn’t finish.” I announce. Sarah leaves her things in the classroom but goes out into the hallway. She’s one of the only people in the creative writing club. Thankfully, she’s fairly popular and is trying to bring in more members. This club is small and silly and insignificant, but honestly is the only thing I look forward to. Well, school-wise. I love my girlfriend and I love gas stations. It’s sad that I love gas stations as much as I love a physical being. I am a sad, sad man. Sarah comes back into my room, her arms linked with a boy’s. He’s arguing with her and trying to pull away but she overpowers him and forces him to sit next to her. The boy’s face intrigued me. His facial features are all too long or too big, yet he isn’t unattractive. If anything, the imbalance is what makes him attractive. But his outfit is what really catches my eye. He sported a light pink skirt with knee high socks to match. “You’ll love it!” She promises him. “As if, Sarah. I have much better things to be doing.” He insists and crosses his arms. “Like what?” He doesn’t respond. “Mr. Ross, I got us a new member!” “I can see that.” “Brendon, Mr. Ross. Mr. Ross, Brendon.” Sarah introduces. He looks like a Brendon. I can’t think of any other name that would suit him. “Welcome to the creative writing club.” I offer a smile that he forces himself to return. “Thanks, Mr. Ross.” I pull out a book read it for the rest of the hour. When I looked up last there were five students in the room and by the end of after school there were no differences. The students placed today’s writing on my desk and made their way out of the room. Off to go do what teenagers do. Smoke, fuck, and make mistakes. Maybe that’s changed. Maybe it’s gotten worse. I don’t know anything these days. I text Helena that I’ll be home soon and do a little organizing and cleaning before leaving the building. I’m such an idiot. Coming back to highschool after graduating. I must have a death wish. Yeah that’s it. That’s why I do it.


End file.
